


open your heart

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Confessions, Fluff, Light angst..., M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 02:28:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21129263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jeritza doesn't talk to anyone, and he certainly never opens up to anyone. Yet, something about Byleth makes him waver.





	open your heart

**Author's Note:**

> once the dlc drops I'm CERTAIN this will become obsolete...and yet! I like them so much i wanted to write something small anyway!

Jeritza hadn't wanted to stay at the monastery. He planned on simply working as a vagabond, appearing only when necessary, yet Edelgard practically _insisted_ on him returning to his old quarters. She gave a multitude of reasons why, and though Jeritza had not listened to any of them nor cared, for some godforsaken reason, he's standing in his old room from five years ago.

There's still a bloodstain on the floor from when he plunged a knife into Manuela. Ah, memories. He kneels down and scrubs at it with his sleeve, but after five years, it's now become a permanent decoration. He considers putting a rug down over it later.

A knock at his door puts him at immediate unease. Edelgard had assured him she would not tell anyone he was staying here unless he permitted it (he very much did _not_ permit it), so who could possibly be bothering him now, unless it was Edelgard herself? Jeritza doesn't move. If he ignores it, surely, the annoyance will dismiss themselves.

They do not dismiss themselves. The knocking becomes fervently louder and more rapid. Jeritza lets out a rough groan as he approaches the door and leans against it. He answers to no one but himself, so if it truly is Edelgard at his door, she should know better than to cross his very strict boundaries.

"Go away," Jeritza says gruffly.

That seems to have worked. For a long moment, there's no more knocking, and yet—there's a presence. He can certainly sense it. By the gods, why do people have to be so stupidly persistent? As he unlocks the door, dagger in hand, he's dead set on telling Edelgard that only after five minutes, this living situation is not going to work if—

"Oh, pointy."

Jeritza blinks as he opens the door and is met with an all too familiar face. He lowers the dagger he had immediately pointed at the professor's face. Byleth looks up at him with that same weird, fish-eyed stare he had five years ago.

"What?" Jeritza asks, exasperated. "Leave me alone."

Byleth invites himself into Jeritza's room without permission. Jeritza is taken aback by the forwardness, a sour expression painting his face as he grabs the professor by the wrist. Byleth looks back at him quizzically, as if he doesn't understand why Jeritza could possibly be upset.

"Are you daft?" Jeritza hisses. "Are you even listening to me?"

"How do you do that warp magic?" Byleth asks plainly. "I've been wondering forever."

Jeritza blinks at him through his mask. Byleth blinks back, and they stare at each other in an uncomfortably long silence. As it turns out, neither of them are actually _uncomfortable_ by the uncomfortable silence, so neither of them feel the need to speak up and end it.

Byleth, however, finally reiterates his previous question: "I thought mages could only use warp magic. How do you do it? Can you go anywhere, any time...?"

"I do not wish to speak with you," Jeritza says bluntly.

"Then use your warp magic," Byleth insists. "Poof!"

"Go. Away."

Byleth pouts, puffing his cheeks out. He makes his way for the door, but instead of leaving, he leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms. "You must have a limit to how often you can use it?"

"Do you have a limit to how annoying you can be?" Jeritza retorts.

"No," Byleth responds, the insult rendered ineffective.

Jeritza stares at the other man incredulously. For someone to have such a lack of every kind of awareness is intangible. Honestly, it isn't that Jeritza _dislikes_ Byleth. If anything, he is incredibly fascinated by the man—yet, his distaste for socialization leaves him only wanting to be left in complete solitude, no matter who comes knocking at his door.

Byleth finds a cat past the front gate and wanders off towards it. It'd be easy for Jeritza to slam the door shut and lock himself in. Yet, frustratingly so, Jeritza cannot find it in himself to do that to Byleth, even if conversating is the last thing he wants to do right now.

It must be the mystifying fascination he has with the professor. Now that Byleth has appeared before him, all Jeritza wants to do is observe him. He will, however, continue to feign a false sense of annoyance.

He'd rather not let anyone else know he's staying at the monastery. Byleth figuring out he's residing here within minutes of returning is already weird enough. Jeritza does a double take down each side of the area to make sure no one is around before he steps out of his room, quietly closes the door, and strides up to Byleth, who is sitting on the ground with a cat in his lap.

Jeritza inhales a sharp breath before speaking. "Surely...you have an ulterior motive for speaking with me."

"What makes you say that?" Byleth pats at the butt of the cat in his lap.

"You..." Jeritza pauses—he isn't sure how to respond. He is not accustomed to people talking back to him. "You knew I was here... Miss Edelgard must have sent you for...something."

"I saw you going into your room," comes Byleth's response, "so I followed you." He looks up at Jeritza. "I think you're interesting."

Such a simple, straightforward answer leaves Jeritza silenced. The cat in Byleth's lap is purring so loud that its whole body seems to be vibrating. Eyes transfixed on the cat, Jeritza ponders if it would be uncouth to reach down and pet it.

Unbeknownst to Jeritza until Byleth grabs at his wrist, he had already outstretched his hand towards the cat. Jeritza's cheeks noticeably flame up when Byleth guides his hand onto the cat; Jeritza is so tall that he nearly fumbles forward from the action. Gradually, he kneels down next to Byleth, and allows the other to place his hand on top of the ashen gray cat.

"S..." Jeritza's gulp sounds deafening to his own ears. "Soft..."

"Very soft."

Byleth smiles at Jeritza, a sight so unusually rare that Jeritza's brain short circuits for a moment. Why is his heart beating so hard? Is the lack of human connection over the years taking its toll? All he knows is that he doesn't like it. With a harsh grumble, Jeritza rises up and quickly retreats back into his room, slamming the door shut.

"Oh." Byleth looks towards Jeritza's quarters, then down at the cat. "Did I say something weird? Or maybe I smell, kitty?"

The cat meows.

* * *

Jeritza had to give up on his goal of letting no one know he's residing in the monastery. Food, as it turns out, is a vital necessity to live. He had briefly considered how long he could possibly go without food, and how long the war would last, and if those two factors would fatally coincide with each other.

However, when Edelgard found him passed out on the floor in his room, she forced him into going to the dining hall at least once a day. He absolutely _despises_ it, but usually, if he gets his timing right, he can go in the middle of the night when no one else is there, unless it's a night owl such as Linhardt or Hubert. Luckily for him, those two have much less of a knack for conversation as he does.

He avoids Mercedes like the plague. She was in the Blue Lions class during the academy—why, of all places, is she here? Should she not be supporting the king of Faerghus, in her hometown? Hopefully she hasn't realized that he's here, or who he even is. The prospect of having to talk to her makes his head ache.

"Auuuuuuugh!" Caspar throws his training sword to the ground with an ear piercing scream. "Why can't I beat you, Professor?!"

"I'm stronger than you, for starters," Byleth answers. "You've improved a lot, though. If you—"

That only serves to make Caspar huff and puff even louder. Instead of listening to Byleth's incoming lecture, he retrieves his training sword from the ground and hurls himself at his old professor, all while screaming. Byleth easily side steps the younger man's advance, then smacks him in the back with his sword. Caspar lets out a weak, angry cry as he tumbles to the ground, earning himself a mouthful of dirt.

Jeritza, leaning against a pillar in the corner, gives a small chuckle of approval.

"As I was saying," Byleth continues, "if you tone down your recklessness, you'll do wonders. Stop screaming so much."

Caspar rolls onto his back and screams in rebuttal. "Uuugh, but I want to beat you _now_!"

"I'm sure you will one day."

Byleth reaches his hand out to Caspar. With a childlike sigh, Caspar takes his hand, allowing himself to be pulled back up to his feet. He gives a wave to Byleth before setting his sword back onto the wall and leaving the training grounds, all while complaining about how he needs to get stronger.

"Impressive," Jeritza mutters.

Byleth turns towards Jeritza's direction, eyes sparkling. "Did you compliment me?"

"No," Jeritza adamantly lies. "Spar with me."

"Don't wanna." Byleth twirls the training sword around by the hilt. "I'm sweaty and tired. Kinda hungry."

Jeritza sharply narrows his eyes at Byleth, yet it goes unnoticed under his mask. He takes a few steps forward, as if to threaten Byleth into giving in and accepting his challenge, but Byleth continues twirling the sword nonchalantly, even going so far as to whistle a tune.

"Wanna go to the dining hall with me?" Byleth asks.

Jeritza stops in his tracks at the question. His leg dangles uselessly in the air, then slowly, he sets his foot on the ground, the act in itself so delicate, as if he is afraid of causing an earthquake in doing so.

"You look like a deer seeing fire magic," Byleth points out.

"I do not," Jeritza retorts.

"You do." Byleth widens his eyes to mimic Jeritza's shocked expression, then points at his own eyes. "You look like this."

"I do not enjoy the company of others," Jeritza admits.

Byleth cocks his head to the side. "Why do you keep following me, then?"

Jeritza's eyes widen once more. At that, Byleth also widens his eyes again and stares directly up at the taller man. Viscerally unsettled, Jeritza covers his mouth and turns the other way, unable to handle how profound this strange man is.

"You're awfully shy," Byleth says.

"Wh—" Jeritza grimaces. "The nerve—!"

Byleth is already exiting the training grounds before Jeritza can come up with a proper response. He grits his teeth, practically seething, yet his legs appear to have a mind of their own as he follows Byleth out the giant doors. He keeps a reasonable distance between them, but Byleth looks over his shoulder at him once in a while, fully knowing he is trailing behind him.

_I must be insane,_ Jeritza decides. His heart beats like a drum in his chest—his legs are frozen, unwillingly to guide him any further into the dining hall. It's dinner time, the prime hour for everyone to gather for a meal. He isn't even in the room yet, but he can feel people's eyes on him, piercing through his skin like pointed knives. He clutches his mask like a lifeline with trembling fingers.

"It's okay," Byleth says. "You don't have to."

Jeritza frowns, takes a few steps back, then bolts like a wild animal freed from its unwanted confinement. He doesn't need Byleth's permission in the first place, but his words are enough encouragement for him to flee as fast as possible.

_Ridiculous,_ he thinks to himself. For him, the almighty Death Knight, to feel such a helpless sense of dread upon simply walking into a group of people—

He slams the door shut behind him and leans against it, tightly hugging his arms around himself. His body moves on its own, and slowly, he sinks to the floor, choked sobs escaping his mouth like hiccups. He throws his mask aside and wipes at his eyes with his sleeves, desperately wishing the flow of tears would end already.

The memories keep ingraining themselves into his brain like a weed. A bustling room, filled with adults, nobles—crest bearers, looking down on him with darkened, judgemental, cruel eyes. He asks a question, something he can't recall. Something about a girl, something an adult had mentioned beforehand. A question about his sister?

A loud smack. He falls to the floor, blood dripping from his nose. His father wipes at the hand he used to hit him with a handkerchief, as if he had sullied it.

_"Do not embarrass me,"_ he had said.

The adults crowd him and laugh. They look down upon the crying child and laugh, ridiculing his insolence and disrespect. A child of noble birth, with a crest no less, should surely know better. Blood keeps dripping from his nose. No one is helping him up.

There's a knock at his door. Jeritza clutches his face, still torn up in a whirlwind of his own emotions. He tries to steady his breathing, but his body seems to be unable to relax itself after a traumatic episode.

"Jeritzaaa?" Byleth's voice chimes like a welcoming bell. "Can I come in? I brought food for you."

Jeritza's legs tremble like jelly as he grabs onto the wall, standing himself up. His mind tells him to scream at Byleth, to go away, never come back, but his heart—his _heart_ is aching for that contact, that warm voice calling out to him.

He opens the door. He's met with Byleth looking up at him, expression changing from deadpan, to a grin, then to a concerned frown upon seeing the wet tears staining Jeritza's face. Byleth quickly scuttles in and sets the plates of food down on the table, then wraps his arms around Jeritza so tight that it's almost suffocating. Jeritza's ears are ringing, his eyes are blurry, and he feels so dizzy that he can hardly even comprehend what's happening.

"You're okay," Byleth murmurs, voice muffled from his face being buried into Jeritza's chest. "You don't have to talk about it. It's okay. You're okay."

Suddenly, Jeritza realizes, he understands why the younger warriors look up to their old professor so much. The warmth radiating off of this person, who generally appears so cold and lifeless, is simply intoxicating, like a potent type of drug that he could become easily addicted to.

Jeritza—whose survival instinct is to immediately push away anyone who so much as glances at him—loops his arms around Byleth's back, and openly weeps, the tears gently falling onto the top of Byleth's hair.

* * *

Byleth soon notices that after the incident, Jeritza goes the extra mile to avoid him. One evening, he waits in the dining hall for Jeritza's arrival, knowing full well he doesn't come down to eat until well past ten—yet, when Jeritza walks through the doors and sees the green haired man sitting at one of the tables, he whirls around and runs so fast that it gives Byleth whiplash.

_He's embarrassed,_ Byleth pinpoints.

As someone who is not very in tune with his own emotions, Byleth can read Jeritza like a book he's reread multiple times over. It's almost _uncanny_ how well Byleth understands him, and that, quite possibly, is what freaks Jeritza out the most.

They had eaten together in his room, after Byleth embraced him so sweetly. It was mostly silent, as neither of them had felt the need to initiate any sort of conversation, but the company...

It was...nice.

It was nice, and Jeritza wants more of it, and the feeling of actually _wanting_ something makes Jeritza's heart flutter in a word he can only truly describe as: disgusting.

Byleth fondly remembers Jeritza's eyes. He had kept his mask off the entire time they ate, and he couldn't keep himself from staring at Jeritza's face the entire time. Every time Jeritza would glance at him, Byleth would be staring at him like a curious child.

A few days go by after that before Byleth sees Jeritza. And, unfortunately, the next time he sees him again is on the battlefield, where he makes an appearance in his oh-so-famous Death Knight armor. It's difficult to make smalltalk on the battlefield, especially if the person you're trying to communicate with also happens to be the Death Knight, who joyously laughs as he slaughters his enemies like cattle.

_Cute laugh..._ Byleth thinks, as the Death Knight—no, as Jeritza decapitates a man right before his eyes.

It takes a lot for Byleth to become distracted in the midst of battle, yet for some reason, he can't take his eyes off Jeritza. He knows he's more than capable of keeping himself alive, and yet, he's so fixated on his every move that Byleth is becoming less capable of keeping _him_self alive.

An axe swings right next to him. Byleth yelps as he earns himself a gash in his shoulder, yet manages to narrowly avoid losing his entire arm. He readies the Sword of the Creator to strike down the perpetrator, but when he turns to strike, the enemy is already on the ground, drowning in a pool of miasma.

"Do take care not to be sloppy," Hubert chides. "It would do Lady Edelgard no favors to have our dearest professor served as a skewer on our enemy's dinner plate."

Nonetheless, the battle ends smoothly. Byleth uses a damp rag handed to him by Mercedes and wipes at some blood caked in his hair as she patches up the open wound on his shoulder.

"You got reprimanded by Hubert, hm?" Mercedes giggles. "Silly Professor, you could have lost your arm, you know. It isn't like you to be so absentminded." She pauses for a moment, pondering her statement. "Well, maybe it is like you, but not on the battlefield! You're always so intense and calculated out here. Is something on your mind?"

Byleth's eyes scan the area for the Death Knight, but he's nowhere to be found. He surely must have disappeared as soon as their victory was achieved. Once everyone is dead, there isn't much more reason to stick around, he supposes.

"Jeri..." Byleth bites his tongue. "The Death Knight... I think I like him."

Mercedes eyes widen. "Oh?" She allows herself to giggle once more. "Do you know what he looks like under that mask, I wonder?"

"Yes," Byleth responds, very seriously. "He's very handsome."

"Oh, my..." Mercedes clicks her tongue. "How very interesting, Professor! I never pegged you to be the romantic type."

"I'm not." Byleth looks at his own blood, dirtied into the rag. "I don't even know what it means to like someone. But I think I like him."

Mercedes sets her staff aside, focusing her full attention on Byleth. "Does your heart beat really fast when you see him, or think about him?" she asks.

"No," Byleth answers honestly, because, well, his heart doesn't do much of anything.

Mercedes purses her lips, as that was clearly not the answer she was expecting to hear. "Well, then... Do you enjoy his company? Does he make you happy?"

Byleth considers the questions before giving his response. "I like being around him," he says. "I have...a desire to protect him."

That makes Mercedes cover her mouth as she laughs softly. "I doubt the Death Knight needs much protecting, Professor!"

Visions of Jeritza sobbing into his arms make Byleth frown. "Maybe not," Byleth says, "but I want to keep him safe."

"That's a wonderful feeling to have, Professor," Mercedes notes. "I can tell you feel strongly about him. It's something you should hold onto and treasure—and, surely, if you're lucky, those feelings will be returned. Tenfold!"

Byleth smiles at her fondly. Linhardt saunters by and informs the pair that the march back to the monastery is beginning. Byleth jumps to his feet and holds his hand out to Mercedes, but she shakes her head, simply telling them that she will catch up soon.

She picks up her staff and stares at it, gently smacking the rod against her palm. "Open your heart to him, Emile," she whispers to nobody in particular.

* * *

The easiest way to get Jeritza into your grasp is to ask him if he wants to spar. It especially becomes easier if you are the wielder of an incredibly powerful sword, a sword of which Jeritza is incredibly smitten with, and also _incredibly_ eager to fight against.

"Don't go easy on me," Jeritza says, voice ragged out of sheer excitement. "I want to feel everything you have to offer."

Those words send a tingle down Byleth's spine, and every hair on his body stands on end. "That sounds...you know..."

Jeritza doesn't seem to know, as he charges at Byleth so fast that the former barely has time to dodge his swing attack. It seems drastically unfair, to be battling against Jeritza with a _real_ sword while he only wields a practice sword, but that's the way Jeritza wanted it to be.

Byleth parries a particularly violent blow from Jeritza, bunting his sword against Jeritza's arm—even contact as light as that leaves his skin grazed. Byleth abruptly sets his sword aside and grabs Jeritza's arm to examine the cut.

"S-stop—" Jeritza stammers as soon as Byleth's hands are on him. "Pick up your sword and fight me!"

"I forfeit," Byleth says. "I don't want to hurt you. I didn't even want to spar, really."

Jeritza shakes his arm away from Byleth. He narrows his eyes and backs away, pointing his wooden sword at Byleth's chest. "En garde!"

"No garde." Byleth gives Jeritza the same narrowed eyes treatment. "I want to talk to you. You've been ignoring me since..."

"Since...?" Jeritza purses his lips—it reminds Byleth of Mercedes for some reason. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"I want to know you better," Byleth blurts out. "I can't do that if you run away when you see me."

"You want to..." Jeritza blinks, confused. "Know me better...? Why ever would you want that...?"

"I don't know." While not entirely romantic, it is not completely a lie. "Remember how I told you before that I think you're interesting? That's why."

Jeritza's training sword meets with the ground. His internal instinct wants him to back away and head for the exit, yet, he finds himself being drawn forward, towards the undeniable warmth.

"Oh, and I think you're cute," Byleth tacks on. "I'm trying to ask you out."

Jeritza continues to only blink stupidly down at Byleth. No words escape his lips, not once, yet his feet drag him to Byleth, until they're close enough that Jeritza could easily bend down and kiss him. Byleth blinks up at him as well, fluttering his eyelashes. Jeritza notices, from this close proximity, that Byleth has very long, very beautiful eyelashes.

Oh, he's getting that feeling in his chest again. How did he describe that feeling again? Yes, of course—disgusting. It's so disgusting that Jeritza is inclined to throw up from how overwhelming the sensation prickling at his entire being feels.

"You can say no," Byleth mumbles. "You have that deer seeing fire magic look again."

"I do _not_," Jeritza hisses.

"You do," Byleth persists. "You—"

Jeritza grabs Byleth by the shoulders and promptly opts to shut him up with a kiss. This sort of thing is an irrevocably new experience for the both of them, soon made apparent by how quickly the two pull away from simply having no idea how to continue it.

"Wow." Byleth's fingers ghost over his own lips. "That was...bold, Jeritza... We haven't even held hands yet..."

Jeritza is grateful that his mask conceals at least half of his face. It cannot, however, hide the unmistakable blush passionately lighting up his every feature. Jeritza lets out a horribly loud groan as he faces away from Byleth, clawing at his own cheeks, desperate for this burning hot feeling to go away.

"You are too much," Jeritza whines. "I do not know how to handle you. I am not...myself around you."

"In a bad way?" Byleth asks.

"No," Jeritza answers, quicker than he would have liked. "You...make me...open up. I do not like it."

"You don't like me?"

"No!" Jeritza throws his head back and groans. "It's... I'm warm around you...and I like that."

Byleth smiles, a twinkle lighting up his eyes. "So you _do_ like me, huh..."

"You are possibly...the most frustrating creature I have ever encountered," Jeritza says. "Can I kiss you again...?"

Enthusiastically, Byleth nods—their noses bump against each other roughly before their lips are able to meet again. Still, neither of them have any idea what they're doing or how to even properly perform a kiss, yet Byleth smiling against his lips leaves Jeritza's legs feeling weak.

Once they part, Byleth picks his relic sword up off the ground and rubs his cheek against Jeritza's chest. "I saw a really fat frog down by the fishing pond," he says. "If we hurry up, it might still be there."

Jeritza takes Byleth's free hand, the feeling of another person's warm hand in his own making his heart skip a beat. "Take me to the frog," Jeritza commands.


End file.
